


(may you) always be breathtaking.

by haemo33



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, luke is kind of a manic pixie dream boy, michael has cancer, michael is 15 and luke is 18, small-ish age gap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 16:46:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemo33/pseuds/haemo33
Summary: michael clifford is dying. luke hemmings breathes life into his lungs.+ or the au where michael has cancer and luke is the thing that makes him wants to fight.





	1. a wall called cancer

the youth center is nestled inconspicuously between a towering church and the sprawling parking lot that serves its patrons. a small building with the most basic of furniture, st. adelaide's youth center was designed to provide teens with a safe place to go and socialize with people their own age. it is a building of zero judgement, where teens can escape whatever's going on in their home, be it drugs, or alcohol, or abuse.

in michael clifford's case, it's _cancer_.

ever since his diagnosis, his whole world has been _cancer_. he can't do this, he can't have that. he's been confined to his bed, not even allowed to go to school out of fear that his already weak immune system will be targeted.

he feels like everywhere he goes, he's bumping into a wall called _cancer_. the only place he can get away from it is st. adelaide's. there, no one knows he's sick. no one knows him at all, actually. he sits in a worn plush chair, just inside the door. sometimes he brings a book, but most of the time he just watches. there's usually a game of pool going on, or there are a couple of people gossiping about god knows what. but no one ever notices him.

and that's how he likes it.

-

getting out of the house is always an uphill battle. his mother, who should be hospitalized herself, screams and shouts and struggles to find a reason he shouldn't be allowed out of the house. deep down, michael knows she only fights with him because she's worried about losing him.

he still hates it though.

his father isn't much help, though he does advocate for michael every once in a while. mostly, though, he sits in front of the television, transfixed on family feud or whatever happens to be on the telly that day. it's a pain.

eventually, though, after much screaming and multiple 'i hate you's, michael escapes the fortress of sickness that he calls home. the sidewalk is hard under his feet, and the sun is hanging low in the sky, but still high enough to feel the warmth on his skin. his lungs are sore from all the shouting, but his breathing isn't constrained and he's feeling pretty good. his black and red jansport backpack is slung over his shoulder, full of the things he needs to survive. meds and masks and even an oxygen tank, surprisingly heavy for a container full of air. and, of course, a couple of books.

his footsteps are sure and light as he walks down the street, headed towards the slightly shabby building that never fails to bring a smile to his face. even though the paint is worn, and the steps are cracked and the whole building looks a little bit shady, st. adelaide's youth center is the only place he feels like michael anymore.

everywhere else just feels like _cancer_.

the youth center is bustling, but that's not unusual for a tuesday afternoon. he squeezes his way through the room, headed towards his chair, the one with the worn cushions right beside the back door. there's a ton of people in today and for a second michael worries that his backpack might get shoved around and people will ask why he sounds like a drugstore in an earthquake.

fortunately, that doesn't happen. his chair is how it always is, welcoming and beckoning, a ray of light in the dark. or maybe he's just being dramatic.

michael settles into his chair, curling up and pulling a book out of the top of his backpack, careful to not let anyone see inside. the perks of being a wallflower has always been one of his favorites, mostly because he can relate to charlie kelmeckis in a way that he's never been able to relate to another, either real or fictional.

he cracks the well-worn spine for the nth time, preparing to settle in and finish the story before the center closes at eleven and he's forced to go home. before he can even get past the ever-familiar dear friend in the beginning of the story, something interrupts him.

that something is a beautiful boy, standing tall over michael and his chair. he blocks the light and casts a shadow over michael's face.

"hey there. we need another person to play. you any good at poker?" he says, gesturing towards two guys sitting around a cards table. none of them acknowledge him, but michael vaguely recognizes the two of them as semi-regulars. he tries to come up with a kind way to decline the offer. he's not here to make friends, after all. he's just here to feel human. 

he looks up and his jaw drops. the boy above him is gorgeous. tall and lanky with a mop of sandy blonde hair that is honestly pretty 2007 emo, falling in his face and covering his forehead entirely. but his eyes.

they take michael's breath away more than the cancer ever could.


	2. blame it on neuroses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the two boys at the card table are called ashton and calum. both local boys, friends of luke's from school. they're both fit, looking like something off the cover of a gq monthly. they're almost as beautiful as luke, and michael has never felt more unimpressive.

the two boys at the card table are called ashton and calum. both local boys, friends of luke's from school. they're both fit, looking like something off the cover of a gq monthly. they're almost as beautiful as luke, and michael has never felt more unimpressive.

where luke, calum, and ashton are fit and tan and handsome, michael is sickly. pasty skin, clammy hands, and a sunken face from all the treatments. he looks about ten years older than he actually is. his hair, bright purple and covered by a beanie, is thankfully still attached to his head, if only barely.

it feels like pity. when he sat down, the two other boys at the table asked him about himself. what's your name, where are you from, do you know how to play poker? michael answered every question with one word, hoping to avoid embarrassing himself. michael, sydney, yes. he didn't mean to come off as rude, but it feels like that's maybe what they think of him because as soon as he answered their questions, they started talking to each other and haven't stopped since.

michael is not a great poker player. he never has been. he can remember watching his uncles and his dad playing at every family reunion, standing on his tippy-toes to see over the edge of the table, eyes transfixed on the cards. now, however, those memories are sodden and depressing.

he pays little attention to the game, and the other boys at the table don't seem to notice all that much. they're wrapped up in the game, laughing away at jokes built on years of friendship and understanding that michael could never hope to even begin to understand. but that's ok, as long as he gets to stare at the blonde boy. luke, the others call him. it's really a beautiful name, but luke is a beautiful boy.

michael takes a bit of time to focus on each boy at the table, drinking in every aspect of their faces. calum has dark hair and eyes like black coffee. warm and inviting but hiding a taste of bitterness. the bruise stretching across his jaw, poorly concealed with slightly-mismatched foundation, gives michael a hint as to where that bitterness might come from. not to mention what calum is doing at the center. he seems like a bit of a class clown. he seems athletic, as well, if his well-developed biceps and strong jawline aren't hints enough. he doesn't speak a ton, but when he does it's witty and clever and michael can't help but giggle.

ashton, on the other hand, never seems to shut up. but there's something charming about the way he rambles about this and about that but never really elaborates on anything. if calum is a clown, ashton is a whole damn circus. he jokes and he laughs and he jokes some more, but michael can tell he has a serious side. there's something about him that makes him think that ashton is probably an older brother. just something about the way he carries himself and the way he talks. he smiles with all of his teeth, absolutely beaming at the smallest of things. it's cute, michael thinks, in the way that a small puppy is cute. but michael notices the angry red marks the line ashton's wrists, nearly hidden under long sleeves. they're reminiscent of the marks that scatter across michael's own thighs and hips.

michael can understand why ashton and calum seem to find refuge in the youth center. troubled homes and troubled minds, after all. but luke is still a mystery.

he's been quiet since the game started, only speaking in matters related to the game and, on two occasions, to lightly scold his friends for getting too rowdy. but even though he doesn't speak, he still commands the attention of the table and leaves michael just a little bit in awe. he spends the majority of the evening staring at luke, trying to figure out the boy's darkest secrets. he analyzes every visible inch of perfect skin, trying to figure out why someone like luke would come to the youth center. he knows that anyone can come in, but people don't come in unless they've got something lurking beneath the surface.

the game goes on and on and on and on and michael knows enough to know that he is losing. badly. but he can't find it in himself to care, in this game of cards with no real bets on the table except the possibility of a friendship. and that makes him giddy.

before he knows it, the youth minister of the church, a kind man named sam, stands up and announces that it's time for everyone to leave. there are a few groans of disappointment, and michael hears a few people making plans to sleep over or find a new place to hang out.

perhaps it's a little bit naive of him, but he finds himself hoping that the three boys might ask him to hang out again. or at least ask for his number. he knows it probably won't happen, but he can't help but hope. it's been a while since he had real friends. but here he is, 15 and friendless. so sue him if he's excited about possibly making a few friends.

he sits in the chair as ashton packs all of the cards away into a box, teasing calum about beating him but not really paying much attention to michael. not that they had paid much attention to michael during the game, but he's not really upset about that. at least, for a few hours, he got to forget about the cancer and the hospitals and the fact that he's dying. for a few hours, he got to pretend to be a normal teenager doing normal teenaged things.

ashton, calum, and luke head towards the front door while michael stays in his spot, biting his lip and trying not to embarrass himself. he waits for them to leave, figures if they leave he can run home and forget about beautiful luke and how excited he was to possibly be finally making some friends. they're almost out the door, as soon as they're out the door he can go home and they won't think he's trying to follow them.

they're almost out the door and then-

"hey, lilac." it's ashton. "are you coming with us or what?"

michael has never stood up faster.


End file.
